Wakening from Long Slumber
by Swordsoul2000
Summary: Balinor has slept these many years. Now he will awaken. The last Dragonlord, from Balinor's POV


Wakening from Long Slumber

The Last Dragonlord, from Balinor's POV

I do not and never will own Merlin. It belongs to the BBC.

Recognizable dialogue and spell translations comes from .com. It does not belong to me.

Balinor heard the intruder's approach long before he saw him, the loud footsteps on the rocks outside his cave nearly deafening in comparison to the silence that had been his constant companion for so long, leaving him with just enough time to douse the lamp and smother his fire, rendering the interior of the cave as dark as pitch before he was discovered. Hopefully, whoever it was would simply continue on their way, believing the cave to be either uninhabited, or the home of some wild beast. No such luck. "Hello?" the stranger called out, walking fearlessly into Balinor's domain with only the slightest hesitation for the dark interior.

As the stranger advanced, Balinor mentally sized him up. From the voice, the stranger was male, young enough to be reckless, yet old enough to know better. He was tall and slim from the shadow outlined by the cave entrance, but carried no visible weapons, twice a fool then. No man with any sense would walk into a strange cave without a weapon to hand. From the relative quiet of his approach, he couldn't be wearing armor, and from what the faint light from the opening illuminated of his dress, he wasn't wearing livery. From the way he called out, he seemed to be expecting a response, which suggested that he was looking for someone: him.

As the youngster paused just outside Balinor's dwelling area, he moved, seizing the stranger from behind, growling "What do you want here boy?" The boy looked harmless enough, but there was always the chance that this new arrival meant that he would have to run again. And if that were the case, better that the boy not survive to take word of his livelihood—such as it was—to Uther.

"My friend, he's sick," the boy gasped out. "He needs help!"

Something in Balinor relaxed. He hadn't been discovered. It had simply been bad luck that they had chanced upon his cave. He relaxed his hold, nearly shoving the boy away. "Show me boy," he ordered. The young man merely stared at him, something strange in his eyes that Balinor couldn't read. "What are you waiting for, fetch him!"

He jumped to, hurrying out of the cave, Balinor following him to the entrance. The boy returned swiftly with a horse burdened by another boy, not much older than the first, draped over the saddle. He was older, much older than when Balinor had last seen him, but there was no mistaking the blond hair of his mother's heritage, and the strong jaw left to him by his father. Put together, his second intruder was none other than Arthur Pendragon, Uther's only son and heir.

What was he doing here, so far outside the borders of Camelot? King Cenred was no friend of Uther's, one of the reasons he'd fled here after he'd been betrayed and chased first from Camelot, than Ealdor. It couldn't have been mere chance that had brought the young prince and his man here, Balinor had heard that Uther took no chances with his boy; as well he might with the line of succession so short. His bad feeling from earlier was back, stronger now, all but urging him into a sprint for shelter.

Only two things stayed his hand: One, the two of them were clearly on their own, with no signs of armed knights and soldiers anywhere in the next league. They were carrying swords, the scabbards strapped to their saddles for ease of travel, but that was only sensible, given that they were in enemy territory. Two, the prince's 'friend,' more than likely his manservant to judge by the differences in their apparel, hadn't been lying when he'd said his companion was sick and in need of care. A claw rake, running over the prince's left shoulder muscle, pulsed with illness and infection. It looked to have been well cared for—at least to start, but the stress of traveling had aggravated the wound, leading to the current infection. As he helped the servant wrestle his master's limp form from the horse, Balinor was struck by the heat that radiated from the young man as his body fought to rid itself of the sickness. Thankfully his knowledge of the healing arts, backed up by his magic, should be enough to save his life before the fever did any more damage.

He ignored the servant's hovering as he relit the fire, collected the herbs he needed, ground them into a poultice, and applied them to the wound. Those tasks done, he held one hand above the prince's head, feeling for the convergence of the body's natural energies. A quick glance at the still silent servant—they were from Camelot after all with all the hatred and fear of magic that implied— Balinor resolved to go ahead. It wasn't as if Uther didn't already have a price on his head. "Ahlúttre þá séocnes. Þurh- hæle bræd," he cast. _Cleanse the sickness. Heal thoroughly the flesh_ . Finished, Balinor let his hand drop. Turning to the servant, he pronounced, "He needs rest," and turned away to start dinner.

"Will he be alright?"

Balinor nodded shortly. "By morning." Pushing past his visitor, he headed for the stewpot. If he added enough water from the stream, there should be enough for the both of them still in the pot. It wasn't as if the prince would be joining them in their meal. He'd need to hunt tomorrow in any case, he was out of meat.

Scarcely had he lifted the pot from its place above his small fire when he was frozen into place by the most unexpected words. "Thank you." Balinor couldn't recall the last time someone had thanked him. It hadn't been since…since Hunith, before he'd had to leave her to keep ahead of Uther's men.

He shoved the moment of whimsy past him. It had been over twenty years since he'd seen Hunith. She would have doubtless moved on, he should have done the same a long time ago. In fact, he resolved that as soon as the prince had recovered, and he and his servant moved on, he was going to walk the twenty miles to the nearest town and visit the village whore. It had obviously been too long since his last visit if he was remembering Hunith due to the words of a Camelot servant.

He said nothing as the water was fetched; the stew was heated, the prince's servant keeping a watchful eye on the pot as Balinor hunted through his belongings to find an extra bowl for his guest to use. Throughout it all the young man followed Balinor with his eyes, the same nameless, disconcerting look on his expressive face, though thankfully he kept quiet. The silence was only broken when they'd both served themselves portions of the thin stew.

"Looks good," the servant said, trying his food. Not that Balinor was watching him, but it seemed as if the boy scarcely tasted his food, as if he had to talk, even if it was about nothing in particular. "How long have you lived here?"

"A few winters." Balinor answered. Twenty of them if he wanted to be precise. Twenty long years he'd spent here, eking out a living in the wilderness, unwilling to get too close to anyone again, not after he'd been forced to leave Ealdor and Hunith with scarce enough time to say goodbye before Uther found him. Twenty long years of avoiding the notice of those in power, for while Cenred had not banned magic in Escetia like Uther had in Camelot, that didn't mean that those who practiced it were welcomed with open arms, so to speak. In addition, Balinor had heard too much about the younger king's ruthless practices, even out in the hinterlands as he was, to rest easy in the thought of coming to his attention. Even if only one dragon remained, bound like a common beast under Uther's castle, even though all his kindred lay dead, Balinor was still a dragonlord, and as a dragonlord, there were some things his honor could not bear. From all he had heard, Cenred was the kind of king who would ask those things of his servants.

"Must be hard."

There was something in the servant's tone that tripped the hackles that had been steadily rising ever since his arrival. "Why are you here?" Balinor demanded, tired of the meaningless chatter. He needed to _know_.

The boy swallowed, glancing down at his food. "Just traveling," he mumbled. Balinor waited for the rest of it. And there would be more, he could hear it in his guest's tone. After a long moment, the servant seemed to make up his mind because he leaned closer. "We're looking for someone," he confided. "I was told; well…they said that he lived somewhere hereabouts. A man named Balinor." He paused, seeming to read something in Balinor's flicker or stillness. "You never heard of him? He was a dragonlord."

Ice poured down Balinor's spine. It was too late. Uther had found him again. Even if he killed the prince and his servant now, others would follow. A trail existed, however tenuious as it might be, despite all of Balinor's hard work to conceal his identity. He must have gotten careless, let something ill-advised slip, something that had led the prince and his man to his doorstep. It was only the heaven's own mercy that the boy didn't know who he was talking to at the moment. Maybe he could still salvage something of his current existence. "He's passed on." Hopefully the boy would take that as confirmation that he was dead, and would report that news back to Uther. Maybe, just maybe, once Uther believed Balinor dead, he could risk coming out of hiding.

Alas, it didn't seem to work. "You knew him," the boy stated, his tone certain.

"Who _are_ you!" Balinor demanded. This had gone on long enough. He needed answers _now_.

At last the servant seemed taken aback. "I'm…Merlin," he said, seeming almost...expectant for some reason. Balinor couldn't care less why that would be, except that now he had a name to put to the nearly suicidal young man who had followed Prince Arthur alone into enemy territory while the prince was wounded no less.

"And him?" he asked, pointedly, indicating Merlin's master.

At last Merlin seemed to consider his words carefully. After a clear moment of hesitation, the young servant shrugged. "He's my master."

"His name!" Balinor repeated forcibly. He'd had just about enough of this…he already knew the answer, but he wanted the boy to admit it.

"His name is …"Merlin hesitated again, looking down at his bowl, broadcasting his intent to lie like a beacon on a clear moonless night, "…Lancelot. He's a knight. You know, well, a nice one."

Balinor almost snorted in derision. All the knights he'd met, particularly those he'd encountered after his escape…well, _nice_ would not be the word he'd use to describe them. And while Merlin seemed smart enough to at least attempt to hide his master's presence here, it was already far too late for such deception. "His name is Arthur Pendragon. He is Uther's son." It wasn't a question.

At least Merlin had the sense not to deny it. "Yes."

"This is _Cenred's_ kingdom. He's _asking_ for trouble." Balinor stated flatly. "What do you _want_ from me?"

"Are you Balinor?" Merlin asked a solemn look on his young features. Balinor merely looked at him. Taking that as a yes, the servant told him. "The Great Dragon is attacking Camelot."

Kilgarrah had escaped? _How?_ Balinor knew well that Uther had taken no chances when he had imprisoned the last dragon, even using magic in the forging of the chains. Balinor hadn't been the only one betrayed then, just the only one to escape with his life. Giving himself time to think, he informed his guest, "His name is Kilgarrah."

"Well, we can't stop him." Merlin replied. "Only you, a dragonlord, can."

Balinor nodded in acknowledgement of that fact, if Uther had been able to kill Kilgarrah in the first place, he never would have bothered to imprison him to begin with. Kilgarrah was had been the oldest dragon left alive by the time of the Purge, and in that time had grown strong in both power and cunning. Only the magic of the dragonlords had been able to make him submit. Without it, Uther wouldn't have a chance.

But there was something else to consider. "He doesn't act blindly." Balinor informed his guest bluntly. "He kills for a reason. Vengeance. This is of Uther's doing." The fool no doubt hadn't even considered the consequences of locking someone as powerful as Kilgarrah beneath the earth and forgetting about him for more than a score of years. Balinor had fallen for Uther's lies once; he would _not_ do so again. Let the bastard reap what he had sowed.

"But he's killing innocent people, women and children," his guest protested. Balinor wanted to snarl at the foolish boy. How _innocent_ could the people of Camelot be, after standing by and _watching_, as the sorcerers burned, as the dragons were slain, as the dragonlords were hunted down like animals, all without so much as a token protest. He wanted to, but he didn't. They too had been helpless to go against the commandments of their king.

But that didn't ease his anger. "Uther perused me! He _hunted_ me like an animal!" Balinor burst out, letting the fury out like he hadn't been able to for years without a target to focus it upon. For a brief instant he wanted Uther to stand before him, so his rage would have a proper target. In the Uther's absence, this ignorant serving boy would have to do.

Merlin nodded. "I know," he said quietly.

The quiet understanding only made Balinor's fury burn still hotter. "What do you know of anybody's life _boy?"_ he spat, climbing to his feet, unable to remain still. "Uther asked me to use my power to bring the last dragon to Camelot. He said that he wanted to make peace with it, but he did _not!_ He lied to me! He _betrayed_ me! You want me to protect this man?" he finished, his voice deadly quiet.

"I want you to protect _Camelot_." Merlin protested. As if it made any difference. Uther was a coward at heart; he would never stir from his protections while a single stone stood atop another in his precious capitol. The only way to make him fall was to let Camelot fall. And there was vengeance for all his distant kin that Uther had slaughtered, man and dragon alike, to be considered, vengeance that Kilgarrah seemed more than willing to meet out on his behalf.

He tried to convey this. "He killed _every one_ of my kind. I alone escaped!" And even then, he'd needed help. If it hadn't been for Gaius's aid, he wouldn't have been able to away. Balinor had always regretted that he hadn't been able to do more for his kindred than simply run, but in the end, there had been no other option. At the time, it had been more important to make sure Uther failed in his aim to utterly annihilate the dragonlords. Guilt, for surviving, for trusting, for being betrayed…all of it had twisted in him, fed by Kilgarrah's roars as the chains that bound him were fastened, by the unheard screams of his brethren as they were cut down.

"Where did you go?" Balinor blinked, not having expected that question, his rage set aside for the moment.

"There's a place called Ealdor," he said eventually.

"Yes." There was a sick, almost yearning tone to his guest's voice. Balinor ignored it, concentrating on his story.

"I had a life there. A woman. A good woman," he added, thinking of Hunith with longing. Hunith who he'd thought he could stay forever with, with whom he could make a life with, a life free from Uther's tyranny. Or so he'd thought. "Ealdor is beyond Uther's realm, but still he pursued me." Balinor heard his voice turn bitter. "Why would he not let me _be?_ What was it that I had done that he wanted to destroy the life I built, abandon the woman I loved? He sent knights to kill me. I was forced to come here, to _this!"_ he gestured around the cave for emphasis, highlighting the meager surroundings. "So," his voice dropped again, full of soft venom. "I understand how Kilgarrah feels. He's lost every one of his kind. Every one of his kin. You want to know how that feels?" he stared his visitor square in the face. "Look around boy. Let Uther die. Let Camelot fall."

"You want everyone in Camelot to die." There was some strange emotion choked in the boy's words, more than likely disappointment that all the pretty stories about dragonlords he'd doubtless heard in the cradle, before Uther had banned them, were lies. The stories had only rarely matched reality, Balinor had found over the years, but never before had the divide between fantasy and reality been so readily apparent.

Well, the boy would have to grow up someday. "Why should I care?" Balinor demanded.

"What if one of them was your son?" his visitor tried. Balinor snorted. It was a pretty pathetic attempt to convince him to help.

"I don't have a son." He'd never had the chance for children, had never allowed himself to dream of an heir to his legacy. Only once had he even begun to consider it, but Uther had denied that luxury to him twenty years ago.

Still the boy tried to argue. "And if I told you—"

"Merlin," the prince groaned from the pallet, cutting of the flow of words before they were fully formed. Balinor turned away as the prince called his servant's name once more before starting to cough. He needed to find another place to sleep, given that the young Pendragon was sleeping on his bed. It should be dry enough outside to sleep under one of the nearby trees. And even if it wasn't, it would still be better than sleeping cheek by jowl with his enemy's heir.

Morning dawned damp and early, though the trees had kept him mostly dry during the night. Unwilling to enter his cave while the young Pendragon slept, Balinor stayed outside, greeting the dawn. As he did so, he silently said farewell to the home he'd lived these many years in while also and keeping his eye on the entrance to his cave. He'd have to be moving on once the prince and his servant left him. He saw at once when the young servant, Merlin, came out and seated himself on a rock, though thankfully the boy had learned his lesson the night before and kept his distance. He simply sat there, watching Balinor with a wistful look on his face.

Shortly thereafter, the prince emerged. Balinor was just out of earshot – he couldn't hear what they discussed, though he did see when Merlin nodded in his direction, and the way the prince instantly came to attention. The prince knew, now. For good or ill, there was no turning back now.

He tried to resent that fact, the fact that once again he was being driven from the life he knew, that he was again being forced to start over. But for some reason he found that he couldn't muster up the necessary indignation. The prince and his servant hadn't come to uproot his life once more, even if it was all that they would accomplish. They had come because they were faced with a foe they had no hope of defeating, and had come to beg assistance of a man who could slay their demon for them.

It wasn't an honorable task, not in the slightest, and it said something about the prince that he would choose to undertake it himself, venturing across hostile country with only a single servant for company – _wounded_ no less – to humble himself before a man who he had to have known would have little love for his father or his father's people.

Evidently the prince had heard enough from his servant, because now he was walking quickly towards Balinor, evidently intending to have his own go at convincing the dragonlord to willingly put himself in Uther's reach once again. Snow would stand a better chance in a bonfire, but if the prince had come all this way, it would do no harm to at the very least hear him out.

"My name is Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot," the prince introduced himself as he approached.

Balinor nodded stiffly. "I know who you are," he answered evenly.

The prince blinked, rocking back on his heels, evidently not expecting the mild reply. "Ah, well, that's…that's good." In a breath, he regained his mental footing and resumed talking. "I assume Merlin told you why we're here."

"He did."

"I understand you have a grievance with my father," the young Pendradon began. Balinor only barely kept himself from snorting at the massive understatement, "but I urge you to not let that cloud your judgment. Camelot cannot hold out much longer under the Great Dragon's attack. With every day that passes, more of my people die, not just knights and soldiers. We lost 30 civilians in the first night alone, when the Dragon set fire to the Lower Town, more every day since. Even now my people fight the fires, but they are running low on food, and clean water that has not been fouled by ash. We have no time to even gather our dead, never mind give them a proper burial. All our best efforts at fighting the beast have come to naught…"

The young prince was eloquent, his words persuasive. He spoke not of honor and glory, of glorious deeds to be immortalized in song and story, but of duties to be undertaken, of lives to be saved. He had the gift, Balinor realized, of drawing his audience in, so that when he spoke to a crowd of people, each man there felt as if he spoke to him alone. Against such a magnetic personality, it was little wonder that young Merlin believed in his master so completely. It was almost enough to draw Balinor in, despite his objections to setting foot on Camelot soil while Uther still held the throne. Almost.

"No." he said sharply, cutting of the prince's words. The prince blinked, struck dumb by surprise, not having expected that response in the slightest.

"My people are dying, and you are the only man who can save them." The young Pendragon said eventually, his words just as blunt. "Would you, in my place, be content with such an answer?"

No, he wouldn't, if Balinor was being honest with himself. But that couldn't matter right now. "Be that as it may, my answer stands. I will not return with you to Camelot."

The prince eyed him, critically, up and down, seeming to come to some conclusion. "I hope that you will change your mind," he said, bowing formally to Balinor. That was a surprise. Uther, when Balinor had known him, had been far too proud to even rise from his throne at Balinor's presentation to his court with his kinsmen. Now his son bowed to Balinor as if the dragonlord were a noble of high rank – an honor he had never claimed – before returning to his servant.

Balinor followed more slowly, thinking about what the prince had said. Finally he shook his head. No matter how he looked at the situation, it would not change: Uther held control of Camelot, and the people the young prince was so concerned about had stood by and watched while the dragons were slaughtered, the dragonlords slain. Even if he went, Uther no doubt would only be satisfied by Kilgarrah's corpse, after having learned to his sorrow just how effective containment had been as a strategy. And once Kilgarrah laid dead, Uther no doubt would kill Balinor as well, finishing work long delayed by Balinor's flight.

And when that happened, the world would be utterly barren of dragons and their kin. Balinor and Kilgarrah were the last of their respective kinds. If they died, a great chasm would be torn in the tapestry of magic that supported the world, one that could never be repaired. As much as he felt for the people of Camelot, they wouldn't be in this mess if their king hadn't decided to be a paranoid fool when he'd first decided to destroy the dragons, if that self-same king hadn't become even more of an idiot when he'd decided to betray the Dragon King and imprison him beneath his castle. If Uther hadn't hunted Balinor into the hills when he'd just started to build a life outside of Camelot…he shook his head. His decision was final.

Up ahead, Balinor overheard the prince telling his servant, "He'll change his mind."

Merlin sounded skeptical. "He said that?"

"Just…give him a moment." They both turned to watch Balinor's progress toward their small group.

The prince's body language reeked of confidence that Balinor would change his mind. It was almost a pleasure to puncture that misplaced sentiment. "Farewell, then," Balinor addressed them simply, moving past their small conference into his cave. He needed to start packing.

"That's your decision," the prince said slowly, as if unable to believe his ears. He twisted around, keeping his gaze on Balinor's back as the dragonlord halted just outside the entrance to the cave.

Balinor turned around to meet the prince's challenge. "I will not help _Uther_."

"Then the people of Camelot are damned," the prince's voice was dead, as if he hoped to shock Balinor into compliance using only his tone.

"So be it." It was no less a fate than they deserved.

"Have you no _conscience?"_ the young Pendragon demanded, incredulity plain in his voice. Plainly, he was having trouble comprehending the ramifications of Balinor's decision.

The question stung nonetheless, though he tried to push the sensation away. Whether the prince understood or not, it was no longer any business of Balinor's. Still, some part of him had to make the attempt. Not attempting to hide the venom in his voice, Balinor snarled, "Perhaps you should ask that question of your _father!"_ After all, every part of this matter was ultimately of Uther's making. It was only fitting that he should now pay the consequences for his ill-considered decisions.

"And you are no better than him." Merlin, silent until now, spoke up, the same choked quality from the previous night still clearly audible in his voice. That same, unnamed emotion cut through the rising tension in the air like a fine blade through silk, bringing all eyes to the servant.

Balinor shook the feeling off. With one last glare at the prince, he turned around and began walking back inside the cave. As he walked, he heard the prince's mocking shout, "Don't waste your time Merlin!" but deliberately didn't react. What the young Pendragon thought of him meant less than nothing to Balinor, he was his father's son, who, by his very presence, was a living reminder to Balinor that he could never stop running, that whenever he stopped for even a moment, Uther would find him again and try once again to carry out the sentence of death that forever rested on Balinor's shoulders.

But while he could ignore the prince's words, the same could not be said of his servant's. "Gaius spoke of the nobility of dragonlords. Clearly he was wrong!" Something in Balinor froze at the words. _Gaius?_ Images crashed through his memory, of the man who had helped smuggle him out of Camelot, who had sent him to Ealdor where the physician had family living, beyond the borders of Camelot, safe – or so they'd thought – from Uther's long reach. One thought struggled for coherency in his mind, _so the boy hadn't learned about dragonlords from cradle tales after all._ Gaius had been the one to tell him.

Balinor turned around. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he'd heard incorrectly. "Gaius?" he asked quietly. If Gaius had been the one to send them; that meant that he still lived in Camelot. That he was one of those lives threatened by Kilgarrah's vengeance. Surely that couldn't be the case...?

His hopes were dashed. "Yes," Merlin confirmed, looking wrecked, as if he were on the verge of weeping. Balinor thought he understood. For Gaius to have spoken to the young man of dragonlords in Uther's Camelot, that meant that the two of them were close, very close. Not only that, but it was obvious to an idiot that the prince would never leave his people to die, not while he stood a chance at protecting them, and if Merlin had followed his master this deep into Cenred's kingdom without an armed escort, it was plain that – for some strange reason – the prince meant a great deal to the young servant. Two people he cared about were about to die – to say nothing of his own impending mortality – and there was nothing the young man could do to stop it.

"A good man." It was pitifully inadequate, but Balinor abruptly discovered a severe knot in his tongue, keeping him from saying all that he'd meant to. It would have to do. It was as good a description of Gaius as any.

Merlin shrugged, despair wrapped around him like a shroud. "Yeah. I was hoping you'd be like him." Balinor couldn't really say anything in the face of that.

From behind Merlin, the prince called his servant's name, his voice loud and demanding. Merlin resisted his master's call long enough to wistfully say, "I wanted—"

The prince called again. The servant shook his head sadly. "Well, there's no point." With that cryptic statement, he turned and followed his master away. Minutes later, Balinor heard the thundering of hooves as prince and servant mounted their horses and rode away.

Balinor watched them go, troubled beyond words. He owed Gaius for more than just his life, he owed the elderly physician for Hunith as well, for if the other man hadn't sent him to Ealdor of all possible villages beyond Uther's borders, he would never have met her, would never have met the heart that burned in complement to his own. Hunith brought to mind a willow branch, strong yet supple, which bent, but would not break.

If Hunith had been here, if she could see the bitter man he had become…Balinor found himself blushing hotly from shame, even with no one there to witness it. If Hunith, she, who had taken in a poor refugee, half dead from exhaustion, sharing what little she had and not hearing talk of repayment, could have heard him callously dismiss his visitors plight…and never mind Hunith, what would _Gaius_ think? He had a sneaking suspicion that the other man would have understood his reasoning, but that only made the guilt all the worse.

Isolated as he was, Balinor had still heard what the remaining magical community thought of Gaius: as a traitor, hated even more fiercely than Uther because Gaius had once been one of them, before he'd renounced magic and stayed by Uther's side, even advising his king during the worst of the Purge. Balinor discounted all of it, because he knew the truth: that while Gaius might have acted to save his own skin, the physician had risked everything, including his own life, to warn Balinor in time for him to flee to safety, who had arraigned food, supplies, even a horse to aid in his escape. He didn't doubt that there were others, scattered and hidden, who like him owed Gaius their lives. Gaius had collaborated with Uther yes, but only to save those he could from the clutches of madness.

And now— through no fault of his own— the physician's life was threatened, not from the sword that perpetually hung over his head – for Balinor didn't doubt that Uther had never forgotten that Gaius had once used magic – but from Kilgarrah. Kilgarrah, who wouldn't care that Gaius had saved Balinor's life, who wouldn't _care_ that there was at least one heart within Camelot that still beat to the rhythms of the Old Religion. There was only one chance that Gaius would survive, only one way he could pay his debt.

He was moving almost before he'd decided to act, gathering up his remaining food for the journey, the weapons that he'd kept with him and in good order all these long years despite the constant damp. He'd have to hurry if he wanted to catch the prince and his companion. Doubtless they'd kept to the road, such as it was; off it, the horses wouldn't last very long in this rough country. Balinor had spent twenty years here, he knew every nook and cranny, knew how to cut across the trail they'd use, shave away time. He eyed the drizzle outside. That would slow them further. They'd need to stop at some point to tend the horses if they wanted to ride all the way to Camelot.

Miles past in a blur of motion, cutting across streams, scrambling down hillsides, moving with a hunter's stealth so as to avoid drawing unfriendly attention. Cenred had been known to send patrols through this region, even this far from the border. It wouldn't due for them to find the young Pendragon and his servant.

At last he found them where they'd made camp to eat a bit and rest their horses. The servant was fussing with one of their packs, possibly preparing a midday meal while he bantered with his master.

"Still think I'm arrogant," the prince was saying, a tone of resignation heavy in his voice.

"No. More…supercilious," Merlin declared, casting an amused look over his shoulder. Balinor had the distinct feeling he'd missed something important.

"That's a big word, Merlin. You sure you know what it means?" the prince taunted, equally amused.

"Condescending."

"Very good."

"Patronizing."

"It doesn't quite mean that," the prince corrected.

"No, these are other things you are," Merlin retorted.

"Hang on!" Balinor was privately amazed that the boy would insult the prince like that, but even more so, that the prince wasn't doing anything to restrain him. And from the sound of their back and forth exchange, it wasn't a new thing for the prince to be taken down a notch or two in private. They even sounded as if they were enjoying themselves.

"Over-bearing," Merlin continued with a speculative tone to his voice, confirming Balinor's assessment of their game, for game it was. He was so rattled by the surprise of Uther's heir being so _human_, instead of being chillingly aloof and regal, that he misjudged a step, stepping on a twig that gave with a snap.

Obviously a trained warrior, the prince instantly identified the sound as out of place and grabbed his sword, shushing his servant as he rose. "_Shh!"_

Oblivious, Merlin continued in the same vein, as if he'd never been interrupted. "Very over-bearing."

"_Merlin!"_ the prince hissed, trying to keep his voice down so as not to give away their position from unfriendly eyes. Too bad it was already too late, they were lucky it was only Balinor.

"But you wanted me to talk!" Just how Merlin had lived this long with survival instincts this poor was beyond Balinor's comprehension. A second unwise snap managed to clue him in to the danger, because he silenced himself, taking up his own sword and following his master into the underbrush. It was a simple matter for Balinor to silently move behind them, if only to see the looks on their faces when he revealed himself.

"Careful boy," Balinor warned, stepping from his concealment behind a tree. The undisguised shock on both young faces at his appearance made all the extra effort worth it. "I thought you might need some help, this is dangerous country."

The prince regained the use of his tongue first. "And will you return to Camelot with us?" he asked hopefully.

Balinor kept his eyes on Merlin while he answered the prince's question. "You were right Merlin. There are some in Camelot who risked their lives for me." He kept it vague; avoiding using Gaius's name just in case the prince didn't already know the physician had been the one to send him beyond Uther's reach. "I owe a debt that must be repaid."

"If you succeed in killing the dragon, you will not go unrewarded," the prince promised. Balinor scoffed at his words. The only _reward_ he'd get from Uther would be a renewal of the death sentence already upon him. As soon as Kilgarrah lay dead, Balinor would have to run again, even faster and farther than before to avoid joining his once friend beyond the Veil.

All he said aloud was, "I seek no reward." How could he, given what he was being asked to do, was slay what was left of his kin. How could any man do such a thing, and still call himself sane?

For once, the display of stunning obliviousness didn't come from Merlin. "Great! Let's eat," the prince declared, sheathing his sword with a decisive move and heading back toward their makeshift camp. Balinor saw Merlin roll his eyes at his master's utter dismissal of the mood, before following him to finish the mealtime preparations.

Within the hour, they were on their way again. Merlin offered Balinor the use of his horse (prompted by the prince's raised eyebrow), but Balinor declined. He hadn't ridden since his escape from Camelot, and had lost the knack for riding long distance. Better to walk; besides, he'd already proven that he could keep up on two feet with the pair from Camelot traveling on four hooves.

Several hours later they made camp for the night. Despite the light that still hung in the sky, it was time to stop, if they were to properly care for the horses and gather sufficient firewood for the evening fire. Night came swiftly in these parts, and it was best to have the essential chores completed before darkness completely fell. With the horses tended, and the prince scouting the boundaries of their camp, Balinor set out to gather the wood. Merlin tagged along after digging a latrine for their use.

"This wood's too wet," the boy complained, indicating the few sticks he'd started to gather.

Privately, Balinor agreed. The rain that had only been a slight drizzle at his cave had thickened here, soaking the surrounding woodland until even a skilled woodsman would be hard pressed to get it to light. Still, if it came down to it, there was always magic. He had a feeling that the prince was pragmatic enough to refrain from executing him on the spot, or at least before he'd slain the dragon. All he said was "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll find a way to make it light."

Merlin was silent for a bit. It was plain that the boy hadn't truly been worried about the wood, just as it was plain now that he was fumbling for something, anything to say. He had something on his mind, something more than Kilgarrah's attack on Camelot, and an idiot could see that the boy had no idea how to even start expressing himself.

Balinor let him stew. Just because he'd come along to repay his debt to Gaius for saving his life, didn't mean he felt any more charitably toward the boy for placing him in this position, first by leading Prince Arthur to his doorstep, next by reminding him of his need to repay Gaius for his aid so long ago. Just because he'd felt obligated to lend his aid, did not mean he had to coddle a nervous servant, faced with a man out of legend.

"When you healed Arthur," the boy began, "I heard you mumble some words."

Balinor tensed. He'd known it was a risk, using magic so blatantly in front of someone from Camelot. He supposed he was lucky the boy was simple enough not to have known what he'd saw. Or on the other hand, perhaps the boy was smart enough not to speak directly of magic, even when the prince wasn't around to disapprove. "An ancient prayer," he said eventually, knowing that to say nothing was to invite suspicion. It was even true, from a certain point of view.

Merlin seemed disappointed for some odd reason. "I thought it might have been more than that."

Balinor willed himself not to react. With his mind sorting through possible responses, he tried to determine the best way to proceed. Finally, he decided. It wasn't as if Uther would be able to kill him twice, and before that, there was Kilgarrah to consider. "The Old Religion can teach us many things," he said shortly. Not just magic, but how to live in harmony with the Earth, and with all living things, though fools like Uther tended to demonize what they didn't understand. Some of what he knew he'd been taught by the Druids, but the vast majority of his understanding came from his innate magic, the part of a dragonlord's soul that went beyond this world.

"The Old Religion. Is that something you were taught?"

Balinor glanced sharply at the boy. What had Uther's propaganda been teaching him about the Old Religion? For that matter, what had _Gaius_ been teaching him? He would have expected better from the physician, but then, Gaius would have had to be careful teaching what Uther doubtless considered to be ancient superstitions, without relevance in a modern world.

He sighed and tried to explain. "It's not something you can learn. Either it's a part of you, or it isn't." he paused, then continued. "My father knew that, and his father before him." It was his family's legacy, and he was its final heir. All that tradition, and look at him now. Such was the depths he'd sunk to in order to survive.

"Were they also dragonlords?" Balinor stiffened again at Merlin's question. What was he up to?

Straightening, he said, shutting down the conversation, "We'll need some kindling." Despite his words, he didn't immediately begin casting about for dry twigs, grasses, or small knots of wood. This servant boy, there were times when he seemed…Balinor couldn't describe it. Not desperate, though desperation was definitely in the mix of emotions somewhere, along with resolve, uncertainty, hope, yearning…all crowded in together to create one complicated mash of emotion, though only when the prince wasn't around. In his master's sight, Merlin alternated between almost suicidal impertinence, blind loyalty, and maddening stupidity. It was almost as if there were two distinctly different sides to the servant, and for the life of him, Balinor couldn't choose which one was the mask, or which one was the servant's real face.

Merlin had been silent while Balinor had mused on the contradictions he embodied. Eventually, the boy nodded to himself and spoke again. "You mentioned…you spoke of Ealdor. You took refuge with a woman."

Balinor stared at him. Where was he going with this? "That was a long time ago," he said, stooping to gather another likely branch.

"I grew up there."

Startled, Balinor turned to stare at him again. "Ealdor?" he questioned, just to be certain. The odds against such a coincidence…

"Yes." Merlin swallowed slightly, than continued. "I know the woman."

Suspicion started to churn in Balinor's gut, only to be washed away by the possible news of Hunith. "Hunith? She's still alive?" It had been twenty years without word, by his own choice, but still, after so long…

"Yes." Merlin responded. "She's my mother."

Pain, sudden and dreadful, hit Balinor like an avalanche, as if a gaping wound had suddenly opened itself in his chest. It had been so long…it had been foolish to believe she had not moved on, married another. He'd even asked her to do so when he'd left. She'd sworn she would not, that her heart belonged to him and him alone…and like an idiot he'd taken that with him to sustain him over the long, lonely years. Yet for all her pretty words, here stood her son, nearly nineteen years of age if Balinor was any judge. It must not have taken her very long to find another. "Then she married," he mumbled, almost to himself. "That's good." At least she'd found someone better able to care for her than he had.

"She never married," Merlin corrected. With a tiny smile and a shrug, he said, "I'm your son."

Speechless, Balinor stared at him, at the son he'd never known he'd fathered, at the heir to his legacy, at the young man standing so straight and tall before him. Now that he was looking for it, he saw Hunith staring clear as day out of his face, the kindness that was so much a part of her, shining from her –no, _their_ son like a beacon. The jeweled blue of his eyes, the inky black of his hair, both of those echoed Balinor's grandfather, a man he only distantly remembered. But it was in the young man's bone structure that Balinor saw himself, saw himself as he had once been, in better times.

He was everything a man dreamed of when he pictured the son that would succeed him. Already he stood tall and strong, firm in his convictions, making his own way in the world. There was only one problem. "I do not know what it is to have a son," Balinor confessed, still staring. He truly didn't. He had still been a young man when Uther had betrayed him, and there had been not even a hint to suggest Hunith had been pregnant when he'd left her. Already the most precious years of his son's life were long past, he was nearly a man grown. What use would he be to this young man?

"Or I a father," Merlin's shy smile told him that his son did not count the years that had been stolen from them, that he only saw the years ahead. They would learn how to be father and son, together.

A snap of twig under the young Pendragon's boots as he continued his patrol shattered the mood. Merlin glanced back to his master's passing form, than turned back to his father. "You must not tell Arthur," his son cautioned, and Balinor could see the sense in that request, for both their sakes.

If word of their relationship should come to the prince, and by extension, Uther, both their lives would be in jeopardy. Uther would use Merlin to gain an advantage over Balinor, possibly prevent him from leaving after Kilgarrah was dealt with. And once Balinor lay in his grave, Uther's attention would turn to his son, who upon Balinor's death would inherit his powers. But even if there were no more dragons – especially if, for a king then might see no more use for one with a dragonlord's talents – Uther had butchered too many children simply because one or both their parents had used magic for Balinor to rest easy about his son's safety. Even Merlin's loyal service to the prince would not save him from the pyre.

In answer, Balinor stepped slowly to his son's side. For the first time since he'd met his son, he had no words. But none were needed. As he transferred his bundle of firewood into his son's arms, Balinor caught his eye, and nodded quickly. The slow smile that grew on his son's face was shortly answered by one on Balinor's own. Despite the fact that it had been twenty years since he'd last felt like smiling, the expression didn't feel forced, or unnatural. It felt…right. The two of them together, just like this. It was as if he'd slept for many years, no, all his life, and hand only now been awakened to the joy and possibilities that life held in store.

They did not get a chance to truly talk until much later that night. Night had fallen fully, and the prince lay slumbering after the watches had been set. Technically, it was Merlin's watch, but Balinor had elected to remain awake while the prince slept, so they could sit together in relative privacy. Balinor scratched at a decent-sized chunk of wood with his knife, teasing out the hidden curves and groves that revealed themselves to a careful sculptor. After so many years alone he barely needed to pay attention to what his fingers were doing, the soft sound of metal on wood nearly meditative in its monotony.

"Why did you never return?" Merlin asked after a long moment, breaking the silence they'd settled into after their meeting in the woods. Balinor looked up from his carving, his eyes serious as he gazed upon his son.

"I thought her life would be better without me," he replied. It was the truth, but not all of it. Yes, he'd believed that Hunith would be better off without him, but that hadn't been the only reason he'd stayed away. While he'd hoped fleeing deeper into Cenred's kingdom would break his trail for Uther's hunters, he'd feared endangering Hunith more than he'd had already should he return. He'd known that in her heart, Hunith was the sort to fearlessly throw herself unarmed between a blade and someone she meant to protect. He hadn't been able to put her in that position, even the thought of putting her in danger for his sake still made his blood run cold, even with the distance of years separating them.

"Why?" Merlin pressed, shaking his head in denial of such a thought.

Balinor sighed, and tried to explain. "Uther wanted me dead. If he'd found me, he would have killed me –and your mother." _And you_, though he didn't dare say the last words aloud. Uther might still kill Merlin should their relationship be discovered. He couldn't take that risk. "I wanted her to be safe," he finished, looking down at the carving in his hands, already starting to see the final shape that lay beneath the rough wood.

"We could've come with you." Balinor kept himself from snorting at the thought. Only, it wasn't as ridiculous as it first sounded. For a moment, Balinor permitted himself to imagine, if only for a moment, what his life could have been like if Hunith had accompanied him when he fled. Picturing Hunith living in the miserable cave he'd spent the last two decades in tore something deep inside his chest. He met Merlin's gaze squarely.

"What kind of life would you have had here?" he asked his son, bitterness deep in his voice. He knew intimately just how much of a struggle simple daily survival had been, knew just how deep the lack of regular contact with other men had marked him, down to his very soul. He would not wish the life he'd endured since he'd fled Ealdor upon his worst enemy. To imagine Hunith living that life, to picture his son growing up in that cave…did not bear contemplating.

"We would have been…happy," Merlin corrected softly. A soft, stupid grin lit up his face at the thought. Balinor didn't dissuade him, returning his attention to his carving. Perhaps he was right, but it was of no use to speculate as to what the past might have been like. All that remained to them was the future. "When we finish…in Camelot, I will take you to Ealdor," his son promised, nearly giddy with the idea of reuniting his family, sundered even before his birth.

Balinor caught his breath at the thought, the longing piercing through him like a spear at even the prospect of seeing Hunith again, after all these long years apart. But no, it had been too long. To say nothing of the danger his presence would bring to the entire village. He shook his head regretfully. "She won't recognize me," he said softly. If that actually happened, and Hunith truly no longer knew his face…he wasn't sure he could survive it. Better to not take the chance. Still, he threw his son a bone, poor consolation at best, but it was all he could offer. "I see her in you."

"Yeah?" his son asked, clearly disappointed in Balinor's refusal.

"You have her kindness." It was the greatest complement he knew.

Merlin glanced down at the fire for the moment, clearly embarrassed, before changing the subject. "How did you become a dragonlord?"

"You don't choose to become a dragonlord," Balinor corrected, accepting the change of topic. "It's not something you're taught. It's a sacred gift. For thousands of years it's been handed down from father…to son." And to think that he'd once thought his mighty lineage would end with him. How wrong he'd been. "And that is what you must become, Merlin."

He remembered his own father giving him this very same speech when he was young, much younger than Merlin was now. He thought he'd been what, ten? Twelve? It had been one of his father's myriad attempts to impose some kind of order on the wild and rebellious boy he'd been at that age. He'd resented his father's high-handed approach then, feeling as if his father meant to force him into some ill-fitting mold, never minding the cost. That had not been the case at all when it had come time for Balinor to inherit his father's powers.

"I'd like that," Merlin said softly, clearly honored to share in the family legacy. Balinor could only imagine what it must have been like for Merlin to grow up in Ealdor with no father around. There had been no family legacy for Merlin to live up to, only the routine sneers of small-minded folk for a woman and child with no husband and father to call their own. For someone shunned in that way, to be suddenly taken in and accepted…Balinor could only imagine what it felt like.

"And like all dragonlords, you won't know for sure that you have that power until you face your first dragon," Balinor said, repeating the lesson his father had drilled into his head when he was young. He certainly hadn't. Right up until that moment, when his father lay dead, with a dragon coming down at that attack, and it was up to him to defend the village they were living in at the time; he'd been convinced that the power had skipped a generation, just before it welled up from within. It was a sensation he had never forgotten to this very day.

Merlin flinched slightly at his words, his eyes becoming shadowed. Balinor caught it, wondering at the almost imperceptible slip. There was a story there, he knew, but the substance of it remained a mystery. A quick glance at the stars told Balinor that it was almost time for his watch. They needed all the rest they could manage, given that they wanted to be in Camelot by tomorrow's sundown at the latest. From the prince's urgency, Camelot couldn't hold out much longer against Kilgarrah's assault. "You should get some sleep," he told his son. "We've got a big day ahead of us." In more ways than one. Tomorrow he would face Uther again, would see Kilgarrah one last time. He stood, heading for the latrine to make water. "Goodnight, son."

"Sleep well, father," Merlin echoed. Balinor could hear the subtle glee in the last word, and smiled himself. He might be heading to almost certain doom, mayhap from Kilgarrah, more than likely from Uther, but at the very least this trip had given him the opportunity to begin to know his son.

Merlin was in his bedroll when Balinor reentered the camp, already beginning to drift off to sleep. He permitted himself another smile at the sight, before settling himself again by the fire and took up his carving once again, loosing himself in the rhythm of knife on wood, of form and beauty revealed for all to see. The hours passed steadily by as he worked, only pausing to periodically stoke up the fire, keeping nocturnal predators away from their camp.

He was finished by it came time to awaken the prince for his turn at watch. A miniature dragon now stood in his palm, wings arched, ready to fly. He smiled to himself at the sight of it (and he really needed to stop smiling so much, the prince might see and get suspicious), a fitting gift for a future dragonlord. His fingers traced the fine detail of its head as he set it down where it would be the first thing his son saw upon awakening. He had so much he wanted to learn about his son, so much he wanted to teach him. But for the moment, Balinor was content.

Balinor startled awake at the sound of a war cry, followed by clashing swords, his first sight upon awakening being the prince shoving his servant behind him before moving to meet his opponent. It seemed as if their camp had been discovered by one of Cenred's border patrols, and while the prince seemed more than able to handle his current foe, there would be more. Even as the thought this, a second, than a third soldier appeared, swords unsheathed, more coming at them from all directions.

After a visible moment of hesitation Merlin grabbed up his sword, quickly tossing it to Balinor, before moving to unsheathe a second sword for his own use. From the quick glance Balinor caught of the blade, it was his own. His son was welcome to it, was all Balinor could think, before one of the soldiers closed with him and there was no more time to think. He killed the first handily; a quick cut across the unprotected femoral artery, and the man he faced was no more. Behind him, he heard Merlin engage with his own foe, but being occupied with a second opponent, Balinor could do little to aid his son.

He had his second foe well in hand, when he heard the tell-tale thud of a sword hitting the ground after being knocked from its welder's hands – Balinor didn't need to look to know that his son, his brave, foolhardy son, had been the one disarmed.

He didn't think. With a cry, Balinor threw himself in the way of the sword headed for his son's breast. There wasn't time to get his own sword up, wasn't time to knock the opposing sword out of the way, only time to intercept the blow with his own body. Balinor felt the blade pierce deeply into his flesh, knowing instantly that the wound was fatal.

Merlin caught him as he fell back, screaming a denial to the sky. Balinor couldn't see his son's eyes, but as the soldier who'd slain him was blasted back by an unseen hand, Balinor knew that they would be glowing gold. So, his son had not only inherited Balinor's abilities as a dragonlord –or would inherit them soon enough– he had already come into the strong magical gifts that often accompanied such abilities. Not only that, but from everything he had seen, it seemed as though his son had already accepted the responsibility that came with such great gifts. Balinor felt one last smile come to his lips as Merlin lowered him to the ground with a sob.

"Ah, I see you have your father's talent, Merlin," he said. Already his breath came fainter as his life ebbed away with every drop of blood leaving his body.

"Please no, please," his son sobbed, trying to deny the inevitable. "I can save you."

But he couldn't, that was plain enough from the panic in sapphire eyes. It would have been wasted effort in any case. Balinor knew his wound was dire enough that only one with the power to Mirror Life and Death could have saved him now; and those with that power had always been rare – even rarer in these days since the Great Purge.

There was little time left. As he fought for the strength to tell his son what he needed to know in order to face a dragon, to face Kilgarrah, Balinor was struck by a sharp pang of regret – that not only had he been robbed of his son's past, now their future together had been stolen as well. There was nothing he could do about that now, only the present mattered, this moment when he passed the mantle of dragonlord to his unexpected son.

"Listen to me," he insisted, fighting to get the words past the pain. "When you face the dragon: be strong. A dragon's heart is on its right side not the left—"

"I can't do it alone," Merlin begged. Balinor cut him off.

"Listen to me!" Balinor barked. Looking up into his son's shattered face, he sighed, "Oh, my son." Balinor felt his voice soften almost against his will: there was so much more he wanted to tell Merlin, so much more he wanted to share. But there was no more time. He could feel himself fading faster with each passing breath. There was only time enough for one final message, one last thing to tell this unlooked for son, the son who he knew, in a way he couldn't define, would live up to his legacy. "I have seen enough in you to know you will make me proud."

He'd seen it in the way Merlin had tried to enlist his aid for the sake of the common folk of Camelot who were as persecuted by their rulers as they were by their enemies, knew it in the constant struggle he must undertake every day to have magic and live in the heart of Camelot, and still have honor enough to protect those who would kill him without a thought. In some ways, his son was closer to the dragonlords of old –the ones of song and tale – than Balinor himself was, living a life of service and duty without thought or expectation of reward, who willingly choose to stand between the innocent and those who would do them harm.

He couldn't hold on any longer. Balinor felt his breath leave his body as his vision went white. It was time for him to join his ancestors, to take his place among the ranks of fallen. Only now he could tell them, the dragonlords who had gone before, that their line continued, that he was not the last after all, that hope remained, a single beating heart hidden in the heart of Camelot. There was no shame to be had at the end, only one, last bittersweet regret. He would have liked to see Hunith again, just…one…last…time…

It's done! My first Merlin fanfic!

This is my second time following this basic story format, following the POV from one character throughout an episode. For those who want to read the first one, it's _And I could not look away_… set to the Stargate Atlantis episode Common Ground. I got a lot of good feedback on that story, so I'm feeling very confident about this.

Please, review, and tell me what you think. I've had writer's block for ages, at least until the bunny for this fic came along. Let me know how I did in capturing Balinor's "voice", he's fairly straightforward once you get to know him.


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